Wicked Secrets (5 page)

She padded out barefoot. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, her night vision kicked in. Everything was silvery gray, thanks to the moonlight pouring in. Given the miniscule size of the place, locating Tag was easy. He was, after all, the large, man-size shape sprawled on the tiny sofa, his legs hanging over one arm. He’d snagged a pillow from somewhere and then crashed hard, one arm slung over his head, the other resting on his stomach as his resident zoo supervised him. The ancient cat on the back of the sofa cracked one eye to glare at her, although the Chihuahua making itself at home between his legs didn’t seem to mind her presence. Which was good, because staring at Tag asleep was something she could do for hours.

He looked sexy as hell, his chest bare where the throw blanket had dipped below the waistband of his sweatpants. Her pulse quickened as memories of their night together swept through her. She’d licked his taut abdomen, had teased her way down while he cursed and groaned and they both enjoyed themselves. All she had to do now was hook a finger in his sweats and tug, but...he also looked perfectly content where he was—and his couch was most definitely not built for two.

Her phone vibrated in her hand, and she looked down as a text from Laurel flashed across the screen.

Safe my ass. Where the hell are you?

In trouble.

She considered turning the phone off, but then her cousin would probably call out the National Guard—or, worse, Mia’s brothers. Before she could second-guess herself, she snapped a cell-phone picture of Tag and sent it to her cousin.

Safe and sound. Catching up with an old friend.

There was a moment’s silence and then:

Is he the hottie from the beach bar? He makes stranger danger look good.

How much to disclose?

You have to share.

Her cousin’s next message followed fast on the heels of the last. A quick glance at the phone warned it was five in the morning.

Are you waking up—or just going to bed?
Deflection was good.

I’m not the one who missed the boat.

She was never going to live her beach nap down. When her brothers found out, they’d hound her for years.

He offered me a place to stay for the night.

Hot sex had definitely
not
been part of the package.

Is that code for dating?
her cousin asked.

No. He’s a Navy rescue swimmer who ships out in less than six weeks and who happens to have a spare couch.

Which
he
was sleeping on. Seconds later, her phone buzzed.

Typical. Email me more. Gotta catch some zzzz. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.

Unfortunately, Laurel’s edict left plenty of ground uncovered. Mia’s cousin had been a wild child before she’d met her husband-to-be. Picking up a hot-looking stranger on the beach was probably a misdemeanor in her cousin’s book. Plus, all too reminiscent of Mia’s own former fiancé, Tag was spectacularly unavailable for the long haul. So...her cousin had a point. Mia excelled at picking guys who were emotionally unavailable. Not that she’d done all that much picking, if she was being honest. She’d always
settled
.

Really, she hadn’t been terribly surprised—or devastated—when her ex had made it clear he wouldn’t be around when she was ready to get married. Or even get back stateside. He’d been a fun diversion, a good excuse not to look around. Because getting involved with someone—
really
involved—might mean letting someone get close. Giving up control.

Conveniently, Tag was another sailor who wasn’t interested in settling down. They could have fun together while she considered what she wanted to do with her future. He was the perfect practice man. She slipped out of the room, cataloging the contents of the apartment as she went. Tag’s place was probably really cute in the daylight, even if it was hard to imagine him picking it out. Someone had hung gauzy sheers over the window. The filmy fabric provided no real cover, but Mr. Bentley probably wasn’t an enemy sniper, either.

When she heard the soft scrabbling noise coming from behind her, she almost dropped the phone.
Just a little noise. Nothing big, tall and deadly
. Whirling, she tracked the sound to a cardboard box beneath the front window. Adrenaline pumped through her, even as she knew, logically, there couldn’t be anything bad hiding inside the box. It was just a box.

A box making thumping sounds.

Dropping to her knees, she peered inside. Five small black-and-white kittens ignored her intrusion and continued to wrestle.

“Can’t sleep?” The raspy growl from the shadows behind her shot straight to her girly bits. Did he have any idea how sexy he sounded? The throw blanket hit the floor as he stood up.

“Occupational hazard.” She tapped the side of the box. “You’re stockpiling cats. Do these have names, too?”

“Occupational hazard,” he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice as he mimicked her words. “They needed rescuing and I had a spare box. I haven’t named them yet. You want to help?”

He’d given them more than four cardboard walls. The cats tumbled happily around inside, certain of their place in Tag’s heart. He crouched down beside her as if a dark-o’clock rendezvous wasn’t something out of the ordinary, reaching in to rub a small feline head, rough affection in each touch. The man was a mass of contradictions. He was a trained soldier and a dead accurate shot. He’d rappelled out of Blackhawks into some of the choppiest waters in the world, and, once there, he’d rescued some of Uncle Sam’s finest—and plenty of other people. Her nipples tingled. And he loved cats.

The only things standing between herself and naked were his T-shirt and her bikini bottom. That wasn’t a whole lot of clothing, even if her pink swimsuit wasn’t exactly Agent Provocateur. Tag was deliciously, fabulously half-dressed himself. A pair of dark blue sweats hung low on his lean hips, revealing a stomach that was all delicious ridges and hard male planes.

She was staring.

Stop staring.

“Mia.” There it was—her name in those growly tones again. Now she just had to have her way with him. Reaching out a hand, she traced the cut lines of his abdomen. How was she supposed to stay hands off when he looked like this?

“You’re playing with fire.”

She’d always been one of the boys. She loved her feminine side, but she was also an adrenaline junkie. Growing up as a younger sister with a host of older brothers and male cousins, it was either find some girls to play with—or keep up with the boys. She’d chosen option B but, when she was close to Tag like this, she felt impossibly female. They fit together somehow. Or maybe it was just sexual chemistry.

Honestly, she didn’t really care.

“Come, play with me.” Was that her voice, all low and throaty? She stood up and backed away, hoping he’d follow.

He took her up on her offer, his hands skimming up and down her back, the muscles in his thighs bunching as he walked her backward. She had a moment to wonder where he was taking her, then her back met the wall.
Naughty
. He held her there, or she let him pin her in place. It was all part of the same sexy package as he kissed her and kissed her, his fingers threading through hers.

Oh, yeah
. An animal whuffled softly on the couch.
The boxer
, she thought through the haze of desire heating her up.

“Tell me you’re feeling better.” He leaned into her, staring into her eyes like he could read the answer there.

“
Make
me feel better.”

“We shouldn’t do this.” He brushed his mouth over hers, though, so he couldn’t possibly mean the words. Maybe it was a guy thing. Or a Tag thing. She really didn’t care, not now when she ached to have his body on hers. In hers.

“It can be our secret,” she said urgently, just in case he was feeling gun-shy. Or recalcitrant. Or anything else that would stop them from doing this. “No one has to know.”

“Mia.” Her name came out part laugh, part moan. He rested his forehead against hers.

“Are you as good as I remember?” The words flew out of her mouth, and, funny, she didn’t want to take them back. She was actually okay with hooking up with him and letting the whole world know about it. This time, they weren’t both serving in the military where the question of rank—and who outranked who—got in the way. This time, they were alone in his apartment and she was already half-dressed.

She wanted him. Badly. That was one secret she wouldn’t be keeping. She wasn’t sure who kissed who first, but Tag groaned, low and rough, his mouth devouring hers. His hands gripped her waist and she let him. Hell, her hands were all over him, too, dragging him toward her until she had his big, hard body flush with hers. He groaned again, so she hooked a finger into the waistband of his sweats and inched him closer.

Perfect
. His erection was warm and hard, proof she wasn’t alone in feeling this crazy, intense chemistry. Needing more, she pressed her front against his, rocking slowly, deliciously, against the thick ridge. His heart banged against his ribs, and she could feel each pounding note in her own chest. Having sex with Tag was insane, but he made her feel alive, and maybe that was the real reason she was climbing his big, beautiful body. She’d come too close to dying to
not
want to live now.

“How good are you at keeping secrets?”

She was the best. She’d kept secret the loneliness and the need. The desire for someone to connect with who would not only understand her but would love her. Tag wasn’t offering love, but he was offering the next best thing. He was hot and sexy and, right now, perfectly happy for her to use him.

“I’m the best you’ll ever have, so kiss me,” she rasped, cupping his face between her hands and pulling his mouth back to hers. She didn’t want words. She wanted action.

His bark of laughter was muffled by their kiss, but he seemed more than willing to oblige, she thought happily. He also didn’t appear to mind her orders, although he seemed to interpret them his own way. He pushed a leg between hers, and a bright pulse of pleasure shot through her.

Wanting more, she wrapped a leg around his waist, savoring the intimate angle. When she ran her hands over his chest, his heart pounded beneath her fingertips, their ragged breathing all she heard. He fisted the hem of her T-shirt, the fabric bunching up in his grip as he pulled the cotton up.

The next moment, he was sliding down her body, taking her bikini bottom with him.

Play it safe.

Anticipation zinged through her, as if there was a direct connection between the panties he dragged down her legs and other places. His thumbs brushed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. If they were having sex—reunion sex, fling sex, sex-up-against-a-wall sex—she was all in. Her bikini bottom hit the ground around her ankles, and she stepped out of it, toeing the fabric away.

Tag ran his fingers over her thighs. She had no idea how a rescue swimmer acquired such deliciously rough, callused fingertips, but she approved. Wholeheartedly.

“You sure about this?” He tipped his head back, so he could see her face. On his knees was a good look for him. Although she didn’t make the mistake of thinking he was anything but in charge, no matter how much she pretended otherwise. His fingers pushed gently, firmly on her inner thigh.

“You going to make me wait all night?”

“Not a chance.” His laugh ended with a groan. “Open for me.”

Now
there
was a command she could get behind. She widened her stance, the wall pressing into her back and bare butt. Her new position should have been awkward, but instead it was intensely erotic, as if he couldn’t wait long enough to take her to bed. As if he was every bit as impatient as she was.

He ran a finger over her center, where she was wet and slick.
Oh.
She bit her lower lip.
So good
. She wanted, needed, another bright, hot jolt of pleasure. Threading her fingers through his short, dark hair, she urged him closer.

“Do it again. Don’t stop.”

He rubbed a thumb over her clit.
Yes. Touch me just like that.

“We need to talk about this need you have for giving orders.” She felt each word against her core, and she was going to kill him if he didn’t stop talking and start
doing
. He touched her again, though, his thumb circling her until she dissolved in sensation, her breath coming in small, sharp huffs as the pleasure built.

He covered her with his mouth, his tongue replacing his thumb. His hands cupped her butt, supporting her as he pulled one leg over his shoulder.

“Hold on,” he demanded.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about the order—although she was fairly certain she’d regret her compliance later, much later—but she’d already lost control of the situation and it felt so good. And it was Tag after all. She grabbed his shoulders, doing as he’d demanded, because there was no holding back the tremors building deep inside her. He had to feel each spasm, her body clenching as she fought her way toward the orgasm she needed so badly.

She was still coming, the tiny after-spasms shaking her body, when he dropped her leg and went away. Then he was back, sliding on a condom before he lifted her butt and drove deep inside her.
Oh, yeah.
Fresh pleasure rocketed through her as he pinned her back against the wall.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.”

He pulled out, pushed in again, thrusting deeper with each new, hard stroke. She quivered with each sweet invasion, but it wasn’t enough, not quite.

“There. No. Higher.” She covered his fingers with hers, moving him to
exactly
the right spot for her. Some things never changed. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, holding on to him. Breathing him in with each hard, sure stroke.

“Tag—”

“Right here with you,” he growled against her throat. He moved faster, lifting her. Finding the perfect angle to drive her crazy. She rocked her hips against him, taking him deeper. His fingers pressed and twisted, finding the spot she liked so much, and she couldn’t hold on any longer.